


We Found Love

by nompsky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Founders fic, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nompsky/pseuds/nompsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To establish or set up, especially with provision for continuing existence. A series of founder POVs, mainly centering around Helga and Godric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rowena

**Author's Note:**

> The first in a series of (four?) Hogwarts founders era one-shot/POV fics.
> 
> found  .v. found·ed, found·ing, founds  
> 1\. To establish or set up, especially with provision for continuing existence  
> 2\. To establish the foundation or basis of; base: found a theory on firm evidence.

_**I: Rowena** _

"She's a beautiful woman, Godric. Did you think no one else would notice but you?"

Rowena found him in his usual hideout, the astronomy tower. Why he spent so much time here, she would never know.

Godric turned to acknowledge his friend and gestured for her to sit next to him, but quickly shifted his gaze back to the pair in the field below. Rowena saw something more than jealousy in his eyes. Regret, maybe.

Since his arrival with the full Beauxbatons contingent, Hugo Chevalier had made quite an impression on Helga. Helga had always been a bit of a flirt, but Rowena detected something more than the playfulness Helga usually exhibited around attractive men. She could not deny that Hugo was attractive, both in looks and station. A wizard of his wealth and power would be an ideal match for anyone. But Rowena knew as well as anyone that so-called ideal matches almost always looked better on paper. The only happiness she derived from her own ideal marriage was her daughter, Helena.

And if she was honest with herself, wouldn't she prefer to see both her friends together and happy? Rowena had been playing Cupid with Helga and Godric for months now, and she was finally beginning to see the fruits of her labor. Hugo's arrival had certainly put a wrench in her matchmaking schemes.

His eyes still focused on Helga and Chevalier, Godric broke the silence. "I suppose it isn't my place to be jealous, but I am. She hasn't left his side since the start of the tournament."

"Yes, well," Rowena leaned her head onto her friend's shoulder. "Tournaments only last so long. Haven't I been telling you to make your affections known?" Godric had been uncharacteristically shy when it came to his feelings for Helga. For a man so brave, he was acting like quite the shrinking violet. But then, love brought out the strangest things in people.

"I suppose I'll have to learn French now."

Rowena smiled to herself. "Perhaps, but I don't know that it would make much of a difference. She's very fond of you. It's not as if you do not already hold a place in her heart."

"Yes, but a friendly sort of fondness, or…" Godric trailed off, unable to give voice to what he hoped was true.

Rowena knew the answer, but kept it to herself. Helga's heart was her own; hers and hers alone to share. She stood and brushed the dust from her dress. "You are many things, dear Godric, but a coward is not one of them. Helga appreciates that. Go to her this evening. I am certain you won't be turned away. Don't let Chevalier monopolize her time and attentions."

Rowena stood and made for the door. She couldn't spend the entire day on matters of the heart, especially when neither of the hearts in question were her own.

"Rowena?" She heard him call before reaching the door. "I will. Thank you." Looking back, she saw the characteristic spark of determination in his eyes. He wouldn't let Chevalier have Helga all to himself.

"My pleasure, Godric. And if it comes to it, I'll gladly teach you some French. Au revoir, mon ami." Rowena exited the small room atop the tower and headed down the stairs. Perhaps Hugo Chevalier was just the catalyst her two friends needed to finally get started together.


	2. Godric

**II: Godric**  
  
It had become a habit, during these hot summer months, to spend their evenings on the bluff overlooking the lake. The relatively cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the stuffy castle. The summers at Hogwarts were warm, but never as oppressive as these past few weeks had been.  
  
Godric turned his head to the witch lying next to him in the grass. True, the daytime sun was merciless, but its cruel heat was tempered by small gifts. Helga’s body was dusted with freckles. He wanted to kiss every single one.  
  
He didn’t think it possible, but she was somehow more beautiful now, her skin glowing softly in the moonlight. Her eyes were transfixed on the night sky, obviously lost in thought.  
  
“They’re different here, you know.”  
  
He was at a loss as to what she meant. “What are, love?”  
  
“The stars. They look different back home. I miss them sometimes.”  
  
Home... Was Hogwarts not her home, now? Godric took her hand, his thumb ghosting lightly over the inside of her wrist.  
  
“Tell me about it? Where you grew up.” It was more a question than a demand, and he was genuinely curious. He knew Helga had been born across the sea, had traveled and seen more than he could ever dream of. He’d barely left his home village before coming to the castle to start the school.  
  
She took a breath, gathering her thoughts. “I only spent a few years there as a child before father moved us north. It was beautiful, though. So different from here. Less green, but every bit as alive. Hotter even than this summer. But so very beautiful.”  
  
He tried to imagine it, but his mind could not even begin to picture such a place.  
  
“And you miss it?”  
  
“Some things. Magic is much more acceptable there. Here, we worry about being found out, about children being cast out from their homes, about being burned. There, even those without magic accept it. Its part of our shared history. Magical communities remain somewhat isolated still, but we don’t fear for our safety. I miss that.”  
  
But did she miss it so much she would want to return? God, he hoped not. Hogwarts without Helga seemed too dismal to bear.  
  
“Magic is different there, too. Older, less reliant on wands and words. Even the muggles talk of it, the tuaya ahra.”  
  
Her native tongue. He’d heard it so rarely, usually when they were both in the throes of passion. Sometimes when she was working new spells or potions, accessing a magic her three friends would never fully know or understand.  
  
He rolled onto his side, kissing her bare, sun-kissed and freckled shoulder. “What’s the... tuaya ahra?” He tried to approximate what she’d said, his mouth unable to form the words as beautifully as she had.  
  
“It means, roughly, ‘the magic before us.’ The magic that came before us, the magic in front of us. It’s the rising and setting of the sun, the birds that return without fail every season, a drenching rain after a drought. It’s nature and all its wonder.” She smiled and rolled over onto her side as well, looking him full in the eye. They’d been close for months now, but he was still struck with awe in these intimate moments. That she wanted anything to do with him, a simple farm boy with a sword and a wand, was almost beyond belief. She was phenomenal, indescribable, her outer beauty rivaled only by that within. He could see her very soul in her eyes, her sweet, lovely, passionate soul.  
  
There was something else in her eyes as well. A smile played on her lips, but her eyes were full with desire. She kissed him, and he opened his mouth to accept her. He would never -- could never -- grow tired of this, of her. She was a force of nature; she was magic and tuaya ahra and everything he’d ever dreamt of. Rolling himself over her, he took control of the kiss, his hand trailing up her arm and into the thick curls of her hair. Pressed against her, his own desire becoming quite apparent, he felt her hands trail across his back through the fabric of his shirt.  
  
The night was cool, but he found himself hot now. He needed to be rid of these clothes, to feel her hand on his back, her skin on his skin. She must have read his mind, Helga pulled his shirt over his head. The garment was discarded and her hands went to work on his trousers. He began to unlace her dress. They had long since stopped wearing many layers due to the heat, a simple dress and blouse were all that stood in his way. He untied the dress with ease, and rolling her over on top of him, slipped the fabric off her shoulders.  
  
She was gorgeous. He could never say it enough, never in too many ways. She stood, and he took her in as she pushed her dress and blouse the rest of the way to the ground. Naked and glowing in the moonlight, she was a goddess. What had he ever done in his life to deserve the affections of such a woman?  
  
In the shadow of the great castle they’d both worked so hard to build, Godric took Helga’s hand and pulled her down to him, naked and wanting and more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. He kissed her long and deep, a hand trailing up her side to her breast, fingers teasing her nipples. She moaned into his mouth, and he felt her heat pressing against his own need.  
  
He brought a hand around behind her, drawing her closer. He wanted her now, he always wanted her, he would never stop wanting her.  
  
Helga had plans of her own, it seemed, and broke from his lips, drawing herself upright. Straddling his hips, she looked like a great conqueror. She was. She’d conquered his heart the moment he met her. She ruled him, body and soul.  
  
Her eyes remained locked on his as she lowered herself down onto him, warm and tight and perfect, enough to drive him mad. She rocked against him, controlling the pace of this encounter as she had controlled so much of their relationship. He was Godric the Brave, Godric the Strong, but from the moment he met her, he was completely undone. Strength and bravery were nothing in the face of such power.  
  
A primal sound rolled through his chest, his hips moving with hers as they drove each other to the edge of ecstasy and beyond.  
  
As they lay in the grass, spent and smiling and awash in moonlight, Godric returned his attention to the stars Helga had spoken of earlier. Just how much did she miss her homeland? He knew she loved Hogwarts, he saw it in her face as new students arrived, in her joyful tears when the school first opened. But would it always be enough?  
  
“Would you ever go back?” He looked back at the witch lying next to him, waiting for her answer in her body language as much as her words.  
  
She was pensive, and did not answer immediately.  
  
“I don’t think so. I love it here. I love my work, the students, my friends... I’ve put so much into this school. It’s my life now.”  
  
Where did he fit into that? Godric retreated back into his thoughts. What were they to each other?  Friends? Something more. He felt a bit silly, like one of the young girls back in his village plucking at flowers and wondering if their beaus returned their affections, but he couldn’t help it. He loved the woman. He could admit it to himself, though not to anyone else. Not to her. Not if he wasn’t sure. Not if it wasn’t returned.  
  
“And of course, there are some lovely men around here. We don’t have any Godric Gryffindors back there.” She smiled coyly, her face lighting up before a playful kiss. More serious now, she took his face in her hands. “This is my home now, Godric. I don’t see that changing.”  
  
She wouldn’t leave. For now, that was enough. It would always be enough, if it had to be. He kissed her back, savoring this kiss as he did every one before. He could love enough for both of them.


	3. Salazar

Salazar sits at the head of the long meeting table and sighs impatiently, shooting a sidelong glance at Rowena.   
  
“They’ll be here shortly, Salazar. Don’t be so cross.”  
  
He huffs, annoyed. He has every right to be cross. He called the meeting, Godric and Helga should at least have the decency to be punctual.   
  
“If the reason for the meeting were not so important, perhaps I would not be. But it is, and I am.”   
  
He shuffles parchment before him, reports from across the great isle. The burnings have resumed. There are few safe places for the openly magical now. A letter from a village only a day’s ride away tells of an entire family burned because their village council suspected sorcery.   
  
The savagery of muggles is sickening.   
  
Finally, late as always, Helga and Godric enter the chamber. Together, of course. It is to be expected. Salazar has noticed them growing closer over the past few months, has heard their late night trysts echoing from the stone walls of the great castle.   
  
“You’ve decided to grace us with your presence. Good. Now please sit, we’ve important business to which we must attend.”  
  
Godric and Helga roll their eyes but take their place at the table. They have no idea the gravity of their situation.  
  
“I’ve called this meeting of the founders of this school in response to reports from beyond our walls. The burnings have resumed.”  
  
Any lightness that had previously existed in the room is crushed by the weight of his words.   
  
“Where, Salazar? Near here? Near home?” Godric is worried, the only among them with family left to worry over. “Surely we must do something.”   
  
Godric the brave. Godric the foolhardy.   
  
Rowena, always logical, puts an end to the idea. “ _We_ can do nothing. Individually, perhaps you might return to your home, though to what effect I do not know.” Godric is visibly displeased, Rowena continues in spite of him. “But to act under the banner of Hogwarts would be too risky. The school is vulnerable. We are best protected if we remain secret.”  
  
Salazar agrees with her on this point. Hogwarts must be protected at all costs. They’ve put too much work into the school to put it at risk now. The school will be a valuable asset for the witches and wizards of this island for years to come.  
  
Helga sits silent across the table from him, lost in thought. Shadows of the past settle on her face. Salazar knows little of her life before Hogwarts, but her demeanor suggests she knows the terror of a burning season.  
  
“Rowena is right. We must think of Hogwarts, its present and future safety. The muggles are vicious and stupid. They kill mindlessly; their victims are often muggles themselves.”  
  
“They are ignorant, not stupid, Salazar. There is a difference.”   
  
Rowena the wise. Rowena the smug.   
  
“They are animals. They act as a herd, no better than the cattle they tend. And I will not have their filthy children at my school.”  
  
“Our school, Salazar. And we must accept all capable children with magical ability if we are to cultivate a strong wizarding society--”  
  
He slams his hands on the table, cutting her off. “I will not have those vermin at this school regardless of their ability to wield a wand! You think the muggle parents of muggle students will keep our secret? You think they won’t come for us here? We must keep our student body and our bloodlines pure. We cannot kill them all, but we certainly do not have to teach them. We will not teach them.”   
  
His words are laced with venom. His fellow founders stare at him silent, stunned.   
  
It is Godric who speaks first, barely containing his rage. “We agreed, Salazar. We agreed that we would take all students with aptitude, of an appropriate age. It was settled.”  
  
“It was settled before the muggles resumed their massacres. Magical blood is being shed across the countryside. You want their mudblood progeny here, compromising the safety of pureblood children? Helga, surely you understand the value of keeping bloodlines pure. Yours is one of the earliest wizarding families, your home across the sea has old magic.”   
  
She brings her eyes up from the table and level with his. In them he sees anger, hurt, confusion. “No, Salazar. I do not understand. Magic is pure by its very nature. It cannot be diluted. And do not presume to understand where I come from. Do not associate me with your vile hate.” There are tears welling in her eyes. “I came here to teach all magical children, regardless of their parentage. It is our duty, especially to the muggleborns. They don’t have the benefit of being raised in a magical home.”   
  
Helga the kind. Helga the weak.  
  
“I see. So I am to be outnumbered on this.” He gathers his papers, seething with rage and frustration. They are intelligent people, why do they not see the folly in their decision? “This is not the end of this discussion. This isn’t over.”  
  
“Yes, Salazar. It is. We have the majority and the decision is final.”   
  
In this moment he could not hate Godric Gryffindor, his former friend and ally, any more if he tried. He expected more from him, from all of them.   
  
Salazar leaves wordlessly, refusing to accept the finality of the situation. Perhaps he will never be able to persuade his fellow founders. Perhaps there will be mudbloods roaming the halls of this school for one day.  
  
Perhaps he will have to rid the school of them himself.

 


	4. Helga

_**IV: Helga**_  
  
Dusk was settling, and she needed to find an inn. She had considered making camp in the woods as she had most nights on her journey south, but tonight was different. The breeze smelled of rain, and the air was electric. There would be a storm tonight.  
  
She made her way back toward the main road. She had spent the day riding just off the road in the cover of the woods. It was not safe for a lady to be alone. Though she’d heard talk that the groups of muggles intent on burning magic from the land had been driven south and west, she dared not risk it.  
  
But with roads came villages, and with villages came inns, so she joined the road and headed north.  
  
Helga had traveled south to recruit students to Hogwarts. It was no longer safe to send word by owl, lest the letter be intercepted and the child and her family exposed. This trip had yield a good number of prospective students for the new term, even some muggle-borns in spite of Salazar’s protestations and the threats from religious zealots.  
  
Since coming north as a young girl, Helga had been baffled by absence and and hatred of magic in the northern faiths. At home, she’d been raised to believe that magic came from the gods and from the earth, that no one element of the three could exist without the others. These northmen had no love for magic, their god no respect for hers.  
  
And now she and her magical brethren found themselves at the mercy of these madmen, though they’d made some headway in pushing back the hordes of muggles with torches, hearts aflame with hate and the light of their lord. Godric had left months ago, organizing old wizarding villages yet untouched to protect themselves and fight when needed. What little word she had heard from him about their efforts indicated the majority of the old families were safe. Muggle borns were another story. But slowly, as spring became summer, the burnings had slowed. ‘It isn’t over,’ one of his letters had said, ‘but it’s safer.’  
  
On the horizon, Helga saw the smoke of a chimney fire and knew a village would lie ahead. She remembered passing through the area on the southern leg of her journey. There would be an inn here, an inn with a soft bed and a kind cook.  
  
As she approached the inn, she saw a familiar horse tied up outside. Surely it couldn’t be... but there was only one way to find out. She tethered her own horse and headed inside the small inn.  
  
Sitting beside a small hearth was Godric. He must be headed north, back to Hogwarts. She hadn’t seen him in months. He was leaner, she could see that even under his cloak. A result of the fighting, perhaps. There was a darkness about him as well, and she did not want to think what had caused that. What had he seen? What had he done in those months away from Hogwarts?  
  
She moved to greet him, but before she could say a word, a voice boomed from the kitchens.  
  
“Helga! You’ve returned to us! Such sweet tidings on such a stormy night.”  
  
Helga turned and smiled warmly at the source of the voice. “Griselda! I have indeed returned, for I could not resist the promise of your hospitality”  
  
“Couldn’t resist the rabbit stew, more like! Pull up a chair, love. You look as though you’ve had a bit of a hard ride. I’ll fetch you some wine and bread.” The cook disappeared back into her kitchens.  
  
But before she could move to sit herself by the fire, Godric was on his feet and moving toward her. She met his grin with her own and he pulled her to him, embracing her tight. His arms and his familiar scent and his love enveloped her.  
  
“Godric,” she said after a time, “we should sit. At least I should. I’m tired, love.”  
  
He released her with a muttered ‘of course’ and led her back to the chairs by the fire, where Griselda was setting down some food and drink. “Will you be needing a room tonight, Helga?”  
  
She flicked her eyes to Godric’s and saw her answer in them. She had found her bed for the night. “No, thank you. The wine and bread will be fine for now.”  
  
Helga sipped her wine, eyes still locked with Godric’s over her cup. “I’ve missed you...” his voice was a low purr, the lion sewn on his tunic apt as ever.  
  
“And I you. It was lucky that we should meet here.”  
  
“And what business does a lady such as yourself have this far south, so very far from home? Couldn’t go another day without me, I suppose.” He leaned back into his chair, grinning more like a wolf than a lion now. Helga wondered how it was possible a man could saunter while sitting, but Godric managed.  
  
A smile tugged at her lips, but she decided to tease him instead. “I could call Griselda back over, get my own bed. Maybe tell her a strange man is bothering me as well.”  
  
“You would never. You want to go upstairs as much as I do. It’s been a long time for both of us.”  
  
It certainly had. Memories of his hands on her body kept her awake during long, lonely nights. But if she let him know, he would be insufferable.  
  
“Perhaps. But first you must share what you’ve been doing these past months. We’ve had precious few details back at Hogwarts.”  
  
His eyes darkened and shifted away from hers. He did not want to speak of it, that much was clear. She recovered quickly, changing the subject to save him the obvious pain. “I’ve been out recruiting new students. Some twenty pupils will join us for the new term.”  
  
The weight lifted from Godric’s shoulders and he returned his gaze to hers. “And why, pray tell, did they send you of all people? It isn’t safe, not everywhere. Surely Salazar...”  
  
“Salazar would not have bothered to contact any of the muggle-borns. And besides, he’s been holed up in the bowels of the castle since you left. We have no idea what he’s up to down there. Rowena says so long as it means we aren’t fighting, he can move down there permanently for all she cares.”  
  
“Ah yes, the Great Lady Rowena. Didn’t want to mess her hair, I’d imagine.”  
  
“That’s unkind, Godric. Helena’s been unwell, Rowena needed to stay with her daughter.”  
  
“More like she doesn’t much care for what’s happening outside her castle. Been that way since she was a girl, I’d imagine.”  
  
He was still angry at Rowena’s refusal to aid him in his efforts to rid the land of burners.  That was the only explanation for his attitude. Salazar and Rowena had been his friends before he learned of the burnings, before he rode off to fight a battle far from the castle, far from her.  
  
Helga drank the last of her wine and stood, holding out her hand. She did not wish to speak of Salazar and Rowena. “Come. Let us go upstairs, I’m sure we are both tired.”  
  
The inn was colder away from the heat of the fire, and Helga was eager to reach the warmth of Godric’s room. Ascending the stairs, she considered whether to have the hard conversation, the conversation they needed to have. Godric was troubled by what he had seen in the months he was away, that much was clear. Would he share his troubles with her? Should she be a counselor to him, or a lover?  
  
He ushered her into is room and Helga sat on the edge of the bed, patting the linens next to her.  
  
“Sit with me, please.” He did so after shedding his cloak, setting it on a bedside chair.  
  
She slid her hand over his, squeezing it lightly before asking, “What happened? What troubles you?”  
  
His face broke. He did not weep, but he might have, were he not so proud. “The muggles, the burning... so many dead, Helga. On both sides. We did what we had to, to protect them. Save them.”  
  
“You did what you had to--”  
  
“I killed a boy with my own sword to stop him from setting a pyre alight. He was going to burn a girl, his neighbor, alive. For what? It was madness, Helga. All of it. We pushed them back but there were so many dead...”  
  
“You did what you had to. It is only expected that you might feel some guilt, some remorse.”  
  
His back stiffened, eyes locked on the floor. “But that’s the thing. I don’t. They were killing our people. Innocent people. I killed them because I had to. It had to be done. But they’re the monsters, not I.”  
  
Helga bristled. She’d never had a taste for violence, let alone killing. Had battle turned Godric bloodthirsty?  
  
She thought of her husband, Edric, the man she abandoned so many years ago. There had been burnings then, too. Men with torches and faith and hate threatened all those who were suspected of having magic. She did not want to give up her magic, did not want to risk her husband’s life or her own. So she fled for her own safety as much as his. He was a muggle, but if the burners had suspected her, he would be killed just as soon as she would.  
  
He had moved on, married again. Beyond that, she knew little of what had become of the man she once called husband. Did he hate her for leaving him, hate her for her magic? Had be joined the burners? Had Godric cut him through with his ruby-hilted sword?  
  
“They were just... the muggles are ignorant. They hate because they don’t understand. Surely killing is not--”  
  
“I did what I had to, Helga!” He stood and began pacing the small room. “I have family out there, parents and brothers and sisters. You and Salazar and Rowena, your family is long gone or safe locked away in the castle. You don’t know what its like to fear for your family’s safety. I did what I had to for my family and for our kind.”  
  
He was beginning to sound like Salazar, but she dared not tell him as much. But she did know what it was to worry after family. She had learned that hard lesson with Edric.  
  
“I was married once, you know. I still am, I suppose.”  
  
That stopped his pacing. Lightning from the storm outside lit the room for a moment.  
  
“He was a muggle. There were burnings then, too. As the threat neared our village... he knew what I was, but I don’t think he ever really accepted it. He wanted me to give up magic, to be a proper muggle wife and mother. I couldn’t do it. I could no more give up magic than I could give up the air in my lungs. But I loved him, and I never wanted him dead. So I left, stole myself away in the middle of the night. Without a witch wife, he wouldn’t die at the hands of those madmen.”  
  
Godric gulped, taking the confession in. “I knew... I knew something of your past, but--”  
  
“It’s just that, my past. But you’re wrong. I do know what it means to worry after family. I  had no sword, but I made my choice... I left everything behind, Godric. I don’t regret it, but I feel the hurt of it still.” Tears welled in her eyes and Godric approached, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her hair.  
  
“I don’t want to fight over his, Godric. You’re safe, your family is safe. It’s in the past now. You did what you had do, as did I.”  
  
She lifted her chin to meet his eyes with her own, and he kissed her, long and deep, a kiss full of unspoken words and long months apart. His lips trailed along her jaw and toward her ear. “I love you, Helga Hufflepuff.” And then, barely a whisper, “Thank you.”  
  
She smiled and began unlacing his tunic. “You speak of love, Godric Gryffindor, but I’ve had enough of words tonight.” She leaned up to his ear, her voice a low whisper. “Show me.”  
  
She had barely pulled the tunic over his head before he pushed her back onto the bed, his body settling between her open legs, his need pressing into her. The shadow of a memory passed over her then, her first time, her husband, her once one and only. But it was quickly erased by his hands and mouth, his primal love.  
  
They broke apart briefly to shed their clothes, and Helga stole a moment to survey Godric’s body. The months of fighting and traveling had made him lean, given him scars. She trailed her finger along one of the scars on his chest, learning the new map of his skin.  
  
But soon they were back on the bed, lips dueling and bodies pressed together. Godric was in her, above her, around her. His teeth marked her as his own, his lips trailing down down down, until they found her warm and wet and wanting.  
  
She almost lost herself as his mouth meets her most intimate places, and she heard her voice calling out his name. But then his mouth was was gone, replaced by cold air and longing.  
  
Godric crawled up to bring his face level with hers, eyes full of lust, every bit the lion the singers wrote of. She wrapped her legs around his and pulled him closer, “Godric, please...”

  
He answered with a kiss and a thrust, entering her in one swift motion. Helga’s head swam with the pleasure of it, and she gasped as her legs pulled him deeper still. He drove into her with steady, deliberate motions, his forehead pressed to hers, his lips brushing against hers, whispering words of love and lust. Her nails raked over his back and his pace quickened in response. They were both so very close, and then the pleasure washed over her, months of pent up desire unleashed with a stroke of his hips. Godric was not far behind. She heard him moan, “Fuck, Helga” into the crook over her neck as he filled her with a final few thrusts.

  
As they lay in bed, spent, limbs tangled and his hands tracing circles on the backs of her thighs, Helga smiled and pressed a kiss to a scar hidden beneath a dusting of auburn hair on his chest. Sleep would come soon, and she could not imagine a better place to rest tonight than in his arms.

  
Tomorrow they would travel back to Hogwarts. Back to their students and responsibilities and the realities of their world. But tonight they only had this, each other. They had love, and that was enough.


End file.
